


Wish Not Upon a Star

by triggerswaggiehavoc



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Magical Realism, Wish Fulfillment, Wishes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 19:15:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13347732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triggerswaggiehavoc/pseuds/triggerswaggiehavoc
Summary: A comet shooting by far beyond the reaches of the atmosphere knows nothing of feeling. How could it possibly grant a wish?





	Wish Not Upon a Star

There's a man who grants wishes. He lives by himself, just on the brink of being outside of town, closer than anyone to the base of the mountains. As long as you take the main road to the east, you'll find him sometime, or so they say. There's a small bridge going over a creek, always lined with weeping flowers, and once you pass that, he's not much further. A lantern is always lit in the front window.

This is what Wonwoo tells Jihoon, anyway, over a pint of beer at the tavern. It's been two days since snow caved in the roof of his house, and he's been sleeping on Wonwoo’s floor while he waits for it to stop snowing long enough to shovel it out at least. Who knows when he'll get the chance to actually rebuild it? Foam sticks to Wonwoo’s top lip when he takes another sip.

“Maybe you could go ask him to fix your house,” he suggests.

“If you want to kick me out,” Jihoon begins, “you don't have to make up a fairytale. Just tell me to leave.” Wonwoo laughs for a long time and finishes off his beer.

“It's a real story, though,” he says. “Or I didn't make it up, at least.” He thumbs a few bills out of his wallet and flattens them to the table. “Trust me, you'll know when I want to kick you out.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jihoon struggles to stick his arms through his coat sleeves while Wonwoo is already walking toward the door. “Hey, wait up.”

A man who grants wishes. Jihoon mulls it over while they walk back, kicking at the piles of snow lining all the walkways. What a nice thing that would be if it were true. Of course it's not. But the thought doesn't leave him anyway, sticks in the very back of his mind while he watches his breath cloud up in front of his eyes and thinks about his own house, quietly decaying under a thick mass of snow. Jihoon blows out through his nose. It won't hurt to at least try.

He decides to chance heading there the next morning, to find the mystery man. Shortly after waking, he bundles himself up in his warmest coat and starts on his trek toward the main road. The sky is bright, and snow is still falling, but not nearly as much as the past few days, tiny flakes sticking in Jihoon’s eyelashes. Nobody else is walking through town, and Jihoon doesn't blame them. Frost sinks through the folds of his pockets and numbs his fingers.

When he hits the main road, he turns east. Unreliable guy Wonwoo is, Jihoon hopes he at least remembered the direction right. If the house he's looking for is even there, that is. If the man who's supposed to live there even does. He sighs. Might be best to start preparing himself now for someone to be in that house who can't do what he wants to ask.

As he walks, he notices the buildings spreading out, flattening, petering from businesses to homes. He doesn't think he's ever been so far to this side of town, which startles him since it's so small, but he's also never heard of this mysterious guy before, hasn't even met everyone who lives here, and he knows that small doesn't really mean close.

After he's started to lose feeling in his arms, he thinks he sees a bridge in the distance. He can tell that it is a bridge when he gets closer, and he can also make out splashes of color on its sides, dipping down toward the frozen creek below. They turn out to be flowers, hanging in tendrils over red brick paving, blindingly green despite the cold. Jihoon blinks at them, tries to wipe away the illusion, but they stay through it all, radiant in the middle of white death. It’s only as he’s crossing the bridge that he can see they’re decorated with clusters of tiny indigo flowers that flutter gently in the wind and catch snow like open palms. The sound of Jihoon’s footsteps echoes over the water as he marches past them. Shouldn’t be too much longer now.

Trees barren but for thick cloaks of snow tower on both sides of the road. It’s become more of a footpath than a road, narrowed and worn since its departure from the town center, but it’s still easy enough to follow and relatively flat. In the distance, Jihoon sees the purple shadow of the mountains and the sun rising gradually above them, and he wonders how much further he has to walk.

The house appears without warning. There is nothing but trees, and then there is a small house, unassuming and quiet, with a thin strip of gray smoke drifting up from its stout chimney. It’s no lie that this place is near the edge of the mountains; the ground has already begun to slope, and the path cracks in places because of creeping soil. Jihoon dusts off the snow accumulated on his shoulders and walks toward the house. Just like Wonwoo said: a lantern burns bright in the front window despite the waxing daylight. Jihoon steels himself and raps the door three times with a numb fist.

It swings open after only a moment, warm yellow light swimming through the doorway and melting into the snow on the stoop. Behind the door stands a man, perhaps the man of the myth, tall and broad and smiling. His eyes are gentle on Jihoon in a way that makes his cheeks warm, and he spends a long while looking at him before he says anything. The quiet burns.

“I wasn’t expecting any visitors,” he says, voice soft. Jihoon wonders when is the right time to say why he’s come. “Please, come on in.”

Inside is barely warmer than outside, but after so long in the cold, Jihoon feels like he’s stepped into an oven. The man shows him to a seat in an armchair, plush and comfortable, and Jihoon feels like he could fall asleep. He reminds himself now isn't the time. Across from him, past a coffee table, the man sits down on a soft loveseat and folds his legs beneath him.

“What's your name?” he asks.

“Jihoon.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Jihoon.” The man extends his hand, and it's so warm when Jihoon takes it. “I'm Junhui.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Jihoon chokes out. Junhui keeps smiling at him, shakes his hand until it's no longer chilled to the bone.

“It sure is cold today, isn't it?”

“Yeah.”

“Would you like some tea to warm up?”

“I, uh.” Jihoon clears his throat. “Sure. Thank you.”

While Junhui sets water to boil in his small kitchen, Jihoon takes in the room around him. Cramped but neat, not very heavily decorated, barely marked by any presence. A small fire glowing in the fireplace casts little shadows over the rug on the floor, and they dance around amid the sound of water reaching its boiling point. Junhui is smiling still when he returns with two steaming mugs and places one in Jihoon’s hands. It feels like magma.

“It may need to steep a little longer,” he says, “but I figure you'd appreciate the warmth, right?”

“Thanks,” Jihoon mutters into the lip of the mug, steam rolling over his face.

“Did you have a nice walk out?” Junhui splashes a little milk into his cup while he asks, drops in a cube or two of sugar. “It's long, but I think the mountains look beautiful.”

“It was alright,” Jihoon tells him. “I was too cold to pay that much attention.”

“That's a shame,” Junhui says with a light frown. “If you ever come by again, I hope it'll be a little warmer.”

“So do I,” Jihoon hums, though he doesn't expect he'll be coming back. Certainly not if this guy doesn't turn out to be who Wonwoo claimed he is. “Ah, but I did think the flowers on the bridge were pretty.”

“Aren't they?” Junhui beams. “I think they were a lovely choice. Beautiful all year round.” 

“Seems so.”

Jihoon waits for Junhui to ask him why he's here, but he doesn't. He asks about the snow they've had lately. He asks about Jihoon and whether he's been busy, whether he's been healthy, how his family is doing. He asks what he does for a living and how he likes it, whether he thinks he'll be doing it for a while. He never asks why, only carries on conversation like an old friend who he hasn't met in years. Jihoon almost starts to feel like he's just that, but when the words lull, he's pulled back out of it.

“Don't you want to know why I'm here?” he asks at last, and Junhui laughs, just a little bit. His cup rattles when he places it on the coffee table. 

“Why don't you tell me?” he says, gentle. Jihoon feels something under his chest go molten.

“Well,” he says, and his palms are sweating, “I was told a story.” It suddenly hits him that he might sound like an idiot right now. But everything else has been true, so maybe he can hope. “About a man who lives by himself, right near the mountains.” Jihoon steels himself with a breath. “And he grants wishes.” Junhui raises his eyebrows, lips still dancing in a small smile. “Is that you?”

“Grants wishes,” he muses, thumbing at his lower lip. “I guess it's something like that.” Light from the fire’s small glow catches in his eyes. “Is there something you'd like me to do for you?”

“Well, you know we've had so much snow lately,” he stammers out, and Junhui nods at him. Why should he be this nervous? “The other night, my roof caved in because of it, so I haven't been able to stay at home.” Junhui doesn't react. Jihoon doesn't know what he wants from him, but it isn't there. He wets his lips. “I was hoping you might be able to fix it.”

“Fix your roof?” Junhui hums. He lifts his mug again to drink from it and closes his eyes. “I guess I can do that.” 

“Really?” Somehow, Jihoon’s chest hurts. “Thank you so much.” Junhui’s smile flutters.

“My pleasure,” he says. Then his hand reaches out to rest on Jihoon’s shoulder. “”But, you know… there is a fee.”

Jihoon’s heart falls to his feet. “A fee?” Of course it isn't that easy. This is the exact kind of detail Wonwoo would forget to mention. “What kind of fee?”

“Not much.” He withdraws his hand from Jihoon’s shoulder and leaves a burning outline in its wake, taps one finger just below his bottom lip. “A kiss.” Jihoon doesn't believe his own ears.

“A kiss?” In front of him, Junhui doesn't change, a picture of calm. It's not a joke, his eyes seem to say. None of it is. “I have to kiss you?”

“If you kiss me, it's done,” Junhui tells him. “But you don't have to.” The loveseat creaks as he settles back into it. “I've enjoyed the company.”

Jihoon chews on his lip. There's a chance this is a very drawn-out joke. Ever so slight, there is a chance Wonwoo planned this all out just to fool with him. But even for Wonwoo, it seems in excess. Junhui’s eyes are gentle, and he seems like he wouldn't go along with Wonwoo even if he did plan it all, maybe. Jihoon wets his lips again.

“Alright,” he says. “I'll do it.”

“You’ll kiss me?”

“Yeah.” 

Then Junhui opens his arms, wide and inviting, to say  _ come here _ , to say  _ kiss me _ . A lump of nerves buds in Jihoon’s throat, but he heaves himself to his feet and swallows it. Strange how something so weightless becomes so heavy the moment it’s named a price. With stuttering lungs, he walks the short distance to where Junhui sits, and when he arrives, he leans forward slowly, slowly, until his lips are caught by another pair. Junhui’s hand flits to cup the back of his neck, and the pads of his fingers feel like rose petals. Jihoon closes his eyes and opens them, again and again, and Junhui is there every time with a faint smile on his lips and stardust in his eyelashes.

“Thank you.” His voice burns Jihoon’s bones out from inside him. “I hope you’ll come by again.”

“Maybe.” Jihoon doesn't want to make a promise. Through the window, he sees the sun has already crossed most of the sky and begun its descent. He never intended to stay so long. “Well, I think I should leave. Thank you for the tea.” He feels a chill on his neck when Junhui’s hand falls away from it.

“Have a nice walk home.”

And home is where he goes. A street past Wonwoo’s house and four plots down, and he's standing in front of his own home. He rubs his eyes, blinks, hides himself and peeks. It's no illusion in front of him. Where just the day before had been a destroyed mess of a home now  stands the very same one, repaired, just as Jihoon remembered it. He hurries in and takes a look around, how everything is the same, perfectly fixed. Laughter pours forth from his lungs without warning, and he falls to a squat in the middle of his tiny living room and covers his face with his hands. He'll tell Wonwoo; but not yet. First, he lights a lantern for the front window and starts thinking of a way to say thank you.

 

The world is green again the next time Jihoon visits Junhui. His roof is still holding up, made it through the rest of the snow alive, and the buds of tiny flowers around the city are just beginning to rear their tiny green heads. The garden plot in Jihoon’s own yard, though, is barren and brown. His mother is visiting within the week, and she's always loved to see the flowers blooming. As it stands, he won't have anything growing if he doesn't get some help.

Today's walk feels shorter than before. Before he realizes how far he's come, his steps are echoing on the cobble of the bridge, mixing with the weak rush of the creek’s water below him. The flowers are just the same as they had been, small blossoms a mix between blue and purple, and the green vines they hang on dip into the water at its highest ebbs. He stops to admire them this time before walking on, thumbs at the soft petals of one tiny flower. Something about the feeling is familiar.

Just as it had been the time before, a lantern glows in the front window, soft and muted in the wake of the early afternoon sun. No smoke curls out of the chimney today, and two large white sheets hung on a laundry line beside the house ripple in the breeze as they dry. Flowers sprout through cracks in the paving leading up to Junhui’s front door, and Jihoon steps carefully around them as he treads the path. When he knocks, the sound is so much louder than he expects, carries through the trees all around him in wooden harmony. A bird flies out of its nest and into the sky.

Junhui looks the same as he had the last time Jihoon came. Still tall, still young, still handsome. Jihoon thought he might have changed along with the season, but he seems to be perfectly untouched. His eyes are laced with confusion when he opens the door, but they shed it quickly, crinkle as his mouth melts into a smile. Spring becomes him.

“What a surprise,” he says. The warmth of the sunny air outside paints roses on his cheeks. “I didn’t expect you to visit me again.” He places his palm over Jihoon’s shoulder, and it’s cool to the touch. “Why don’t you come inside?”

Just as with its tenant, the house is unchanged. The only differences Jihoon notes are the unlit fireplace and open windows, a large standing fan in the room’s corner turned on its lowest setting to drop the space a few comfortable degrees cooler than outside. Junhui’s shirt hangs loose around his shoulders and flutters whenever the light wind stirred up by the fan touches him. He brings Jihoon a glass of lemonade and sits in the loveseat with dreamy eyes.

“How have you been?” he asks.

“I've been alright.” Jihoon coughs into his hand. “You?”

“Same as always.” Junhui beams at him. “How's your roof holding up?”

“Great as ever. Really, thanks.” 

Junhui waves the gratitude away with his hand and sips at his lemonade. “Don't mention it,” he says, like it doesn't matter, like it's nothing at all. Jihoon wonders how it is he did it anyway. “I'm glad you're doing well. Are you enjoying the spring?” 

“It's nice. The flowers are all blooming these days.”

“Is that right?” He blows out a sigh, and Jihoon recalls that the flowers nearest his house are always in bloom. “Maybe I'll have to take a walk through town sometime to see them.”

“Do you come to town often?”

“Not very often, no.” His tone is heavy with charm, though Jihoon can't tag why. “But the town doesn't come to me too much, either.” Light filters through his glass and throws a rainbow across his chest. “So what brings you here today?”

“Actually, I've, uh,” Jihoon stammers, “got something else to ask you for.” He feels guilty asking even though Junhui doesn't seem like he’ll hold it against him. Maybe because he won't hold it against him.

“What is it?”

“My mom is coming into town,” he explains, “and she loves to see a full garden, but mine… it’s not blooming.” Junhui’s eyes are soft in the face of his plea. “Do you think you could help my flowers grow?” 

Junhui hums and closes his eyes. When he opens them again, they're impossibly bright. Jihoon can't look at them. “I think I can do that.”

“Thank you so much,” he says.”

“Of course,” Junhui tells him. He tips the last of his lemonade past his lips and leaves his glass holding only ice, then spreads his arms wide the same way he had before. “I’m sure you remember the fee.”

“I remember,” Jihoon says. Junhui smiles at him.

This time too, his fingertips are soft as flower petals. He lingers on Jihoon’s skin with breezy touches, and as he walks back into town he notes his lips still taste faintly of lemon. Somehow, the evening sun is far too warm.

 

Habits are easy to develop without paying attention, and Jihoon develops one. He visits more, during the summer and through the fall, through the winter again and back into spring. There are so many things he needs: a ladder to loan the neighbor painting his house, a kitten to give Wonwoo on his birthday, a swift recovery from a nasty cold. Every time, Junhui welcomes him with open arms, and every time, he sends him away with a kiss. Jihoon’s lips can never remember the flavor for more than a day.

“How’s that crush of yours going?” Wonwoo asks him at the bar. He takes a sip of his beer and covers his lip in foam while Jihoon gapes at him.

“Excuse me?”

“You know,” Wonwoo says. He wiggles his fingers around. “The genie.”

“He’s not a genie,” Jihoon coughs, “and I don’t know what you mean.”

“You know what I mean.” Wonwoo nudges him with a hard elbow and raises his eyebrows. “You go to see him all the time.”

“I see you all the time.”

“I live in town.” Another sip, long and smug. “He lives a good ways out, and you’re always heading over there.” His smile when he lowers his glass is obnoxiously wide. “You could have bought a ladder at the hardware store in town for cheap and saved yourself about an hour of walking.”

Jihoon scoffs and chugs half his beer. “Ah, whatever.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“Something you want me to say?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Wonwoo waves down the bartender to send them another round. “Just admit you’re in love with him already and get it over with.” Jihoon sputters around the second half of his drink.

“That’s what you think is going on?” he gargles, and Wonwoo laughs at him.

“That’s what I know is going on, big guy.”

“You are just… way off base.”

“Oh yeah?” Two more frosted glasses slide toward them, and Wonwoo grabs one and lifts it to his mouth. “I don’t think I’m so far off.”

Jihoon downs the rest of his beer and reaches for the next one. “You’re annoying.”

“And you’re blind,” Wonwoo taunts. “And very smitten.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Never.” The rest of Jihoon’s glass is empty before he knows it. “Unless you can get your magic boyfriend to make me, eh?” Jihoon’s eyes open wide.

“Maybe I will.” He puts his coat on while Wonwoo just watches, takes Wonwoo’s beer and drinks the rest of it for him. “Thanks for the idea.”

“Sure thing.” Wonwoo gazes with sorrow at his disappeared beverage and signals the bartender for another. “Have a nice stroll, Romeo,” he calls, and it’s the last thing Jihoon hears before he is outside.

It was raining in the afternoon, and after a quiet lull in the early evening, it’s back now to a steady drizzle. Thin sheets of water bar Jihoon’s vision, already limited from the nighttime darkness, but he hardly needs to see anymore to take this hike. He walks the roads the same way he has so many times before, misty raindrops kissing his face beneath a gray black sky. When he crosses the bridge, he can smell the flowers, and it’s not much longer before he sees the lantern’s glow.

“Jihoon?” Junhui asks as he opens the door. His surprise goes unhidden. “It’s so late.”

“Can I come in?” Jihoon glances inside past Junhui, eyes jittery. “It’s raining.”

“Ah, sure. Come in.”

Jihoon has never been here so late before, and he's never seen the windows covered by curtains like they are now. Despite the looming darkness, the curtains reflect the glow of the light, and it's just as warm and bright inside as usual. Junhui reclines on the loveseat, but Jihoon doesn't sit down.

“Something wrong?” Junhui asks him. “You can sit.”

“I want Wonwoo to leave me alone,” Jihoon says. “Can you do that?”

“Sorry?”

Jihoon sits beside Junhui on the loveseat and realizes he's never sat so close before. Inside his chest, his heart stumbles, and he clamps his hand onto something to even himself back out. The something is Junhui’s leg. It doesn't help. “Can you?”

Junhui looks down at the hand on his thigh and back up at Jihoon with wide eyes. “Are you alright?”

“I'm fine.” Jihoon leans closer and spots freckles all around Junhui’s face. Without meaning to, he starts connecting the dots. “Will you get Wonwoo to leave me alone or not?”

Junhui smiles. He looks like it hurts. “Why do you want him to leave you alone?”

“Because…” Jihoon’s mouth hangs open, but the look in Junhui’s eyes is making his chest heavy. Like he knows something. Jihoon’s throat burns. “He's annoying,” he fudges. “Just make him shut up.”

When he says that, Junhui laughs at him. Jihoon can feel every breath through his palm. “You don't want me to do that,” Junhui tells him.

“Yes I do,” Jihoon huffs. “What do you know?”

“Wonwoo is your friend,” Junhui reminds him. “You like him.” Jihoon doesn't want to hear it right now; he leans in to kiss Junhui into silence.

Something boils in the pit of Jihoon’s stomach, but he doesn’t know what it is, only that he wants it to leave him alone or burn him alive. Junhui’s hand flutters to his neck, and it’s the same as always, but it’s different. Jihoon tastes nothing on him, but there’s definitely something. Feels nothing the same, everything the same. Junhui only smiles when Jihoon moves back from him, lips tingling with heat. His hand must be leaving a print, but he’s too scared to move it. Slow chuckles spill from Junhui’s lips like honey.

“What are you laughing at?”

“You just don’t get how this works.”

“What do you mean?” Jihoon searches Junhui’s eyes, and he thinks about kissing him again, but it gives him a headache, so he decides not to. “How does it work?”

“I'm not granting wishes,” he says gently. “I'm doing favors.” His hand pats the part of Jihoon’s neck where it rests, fingers drum. It's too warm. “I do something for you, and you do something for me. It's not a favor if we don't agree on it.” Jihoon lowers his eyebrows.

“But I haven't done anything for you yet.” 

“Are you sure?” As soon as he says it, Jihoon realizes. He has done something many times.

“But that's not really… a favor,” he grumbles.

“But it's all I ask for,” Junhui says with a grin, “so it's all I need.” 

Something in Jihoon’s chest hurts. He wants to kiss Junhui again. But he doesn't want to. But he's right there, smiling, shining. And he's beautiful. But he shouldn't. But he wants to. And he wants Wonwoo to leave him alone, which he only just now remembers, and that scares him. And he still wants to kiss Junhui again. But he doesn't.

“My head hurts,” he says.

Junhui smooths the back of Jihoon’s hair and eases him back onto the other end of the couch, where his hand can't hold on to Junhui’s leg anymore. “It's late,” he says, “so why don't you stay here and head back in the morning?” His grin never fades. “You can have my bed.”

“But it's yours.”

“But you want to sleep there.” It's a chore sometimes to be so easily read. Jihoon wishes he hadn't sunk those final two beers. “Go on to sleep.” Even though he doesn't want to, the light in Junhui’s eyes compels him to obey. He's out before he has time to think.

When he wakes up, he doesn't remember where he is. Light pours in from every angle, spears against his grogginess, but it's not until he hears bustling beyond the door that he remembers he's in someone else's home, someone else’s bed. He springs to his feet and hurries out to the living room. All the windows are open, and it’s so much brighter than Jihoon is prepared to handle. 

Sunshine frames Junhui at every angle when he turns to see Jihoon come through the door, and a soft smile decorates his face. He looks pretty. Jihoon has never been here so early in the day, and the thought flushes him. Outside, a bird is singing. Junhui’s eyes are paperweights, and Jihoon is tissue.

“Good morning,” he hums. “Sleep well?”

“Uh, yeah,” Jihoon coughs. Slow memories trickle in of his angry march here and his angry wish, his angry kiss that didn't work, and he recalls how embarrassed he should be. He is. “Sorry for… storming in here yesterday.”

“I was definitely surprised to see you,” Junhui tells him. “Are you feeling calmer?”

Jihoon hangs his head. “I guess, yeah.”

“Do you want anything to eat for breakfast?”

“I probably better just head out,” Jihoon says over the low grumble of his stomach, “but thanks. And thanks again for letting me stay.”

“Sure. It's always nice to have company.” He follows Jihoon to the door and waits until he's taken a step outside to say, “Ah, one thing before you go.”

“Huh?”

“I do enjoy the visits,” Junhui says, leaning against the frame of the door, “but I think you should be a little more careful about coming to see me so much.”

“Why’s that?” Jihoon asks. Junhui smiles at him. Everything aches.

“If you keep coming by to kiss me,” he begins, hair stirring in the light morning breeze, “I might fall in love with you.” Sparkling chuckles dance along his lips like something is funny, but his eyes don't laugh. “I'm just like anybody else, after all. Just like you.” Jihoon’s eyelids sting.

“I don’t think we’re so similar,” he says. Rather than rebut, Junhui smiles at him. The warmth of the wind is stifling.

“Take care on your way home.”

 

Jihoon stews for a week. He doesn't go to see Junhui, and he doesn't go to meet Wonwoo at the tavern. All he does is go to work, and when he gets home, he looks around his house to figure out just what it is he feels is missing. Under the rugs, among the rafters, woven into the walls. Everything is there, but he wants something to be gone, knows in his chest there is an untouchable absence within these walls. He has trouble sleeping.

All he wants is something to ask for, but he can't conjure it. He looks out the window and sees the flowers Junhui helped him grow, at the ceiling and the roof Junhui fixed for him, at the mended floorboards and uncracked windows, and he wants more of this. Whatever it is that's in everything he's been given. It's all he wants. He drinks a cup of coffee black, tastes its bitterness, and pines after a taste he can't remember. Deep down, he knows the flavor. His chest collapses.

Has it always been this scary to realize you're in love?

The journey to Junhui’s house only gets shorter. He is sprinting through his front door, and then he is smelling the subtle aroma of the flowers on the bridge, watching their careless vines sway over the water. Jihoon takes comfort in the lantern lit in Junhui’s window, the calm way it shows his feet where to land. He staggers breathlessly to the door and hacks out a few coughs before steeling himself and knocking. A butterfly fluttering around by the sill taunts him while he waits. 

Junhui opens the door eventually, just like he always does. “Jihoon?” His lips fumble, unsure whether to smile or frown, and Jihoon’s legs feel numb. He wants him to smile. Now and always, he wants him to smile.

“Can I come in?”

“What do you need?”

“I'd rather talk about it inside.” Junhui eyes him.

“Is it important?” If only he wouldn’t be so difficult. 

“Very important,” Jihoon sighs. “Please let me in.” 

After a moment of careful breathing, Junhui does. He leads Jihoon inside with less gusto than usual, steps slow and shallow as he treads the carpet. Before he sits down, he still pours two glasses of water and sets one in front of Jihoon. Settled on the loveseat, he feels so far away. Jihoon teeters on the edge of his chair. 

“I need to ask you something,” he says. Finally, Junhui smiles, but it’s thin.

“What is it?”

“With your favors,” Jihoon begins, “how much can you do?” Junhui lowers his eyebrows.

“What do you mean?”

“Like… could you change someone’s feelings? If someone asked you to?”

“Maybe,” Junhui says, uncertain. “But I don’t know if I’d want to.” He thumbs at the edge of his glass, eyes dancing around Jihoon but distinctly avoiding him. “Doesn’t that seem wrong to you?”

“Well…” Jihoon knits his fingers together over his knee. Running here was one thing; being here is another. Maybe it would have been better if he hadn’t asked for so much from him already. Junhui sighs and leans forward, finally looks Jihoon in the eyes, and all oxygen has burned out of the house. 

“What is it you want from me, Jihoon?” he asks. His smile is back to its usual easy warmth, and Jihoon fears he’ll melt into it, fears he’s already begun to. Jihoon reaches out to grab hold of his hand, but he feels like he can never reach.

“Could you,” he says, but he chokes on the rest before it can escape. His heart is frozen in his chest, stinging behind his lungs. Why should he be so scared? Even he doesn’t know.

“Jihoon?”

“If I stop asking you to do so much for me,” he manages, still clutching at the emptiness beneath his palms, “could you…” Junhui waits, but Jihoon can’t meet him.

“Could I what?” he asks.

“Would you,” Jihoon amends, “fall in love with me anyway?” He gulps. “If I asked you to?” 

For a long time, Junhui does nothing but stare back at him, eyes full and empty, smile real and forced, stars dripping down his eyelashes. Jihoon listens for the sound of birdsong outside, but if it’s there at all, it doesn’t reach him. All his mind can process is the suffocating silence of the room he’s in, the oppressive shine in Junhui’s eyes, the quaking clip inside his own ribs. Finally, his hand grabs hold of Junhui’s.

“I don't understand,” Junhui tells him.

“You have to understand,” Jihoon says.

“But I don't.” Junhui’s smile wavers back and forth, slips toward the edge of a frown. His hand squeezes back at Jihoon’s. “I really don't.” While he speaks, he leans forward across the coffee table—an accident, maybe—and he fills Jihoon’s eyes like the full moon on a clear night. Jihoon wants to kiss him. The thought makes his head pound and chest sore, but this time, he does it.

It's not Junhui’s hand on Jihoon’s neck now, but Jihoon’s on his, light touch and wary presence, floating just above the skin. There is that taste, one he knows but can never place, an understated sweetness that can’t be anything other than Junhui himself. It’s this Jihoon has missed, has wished to hold onto, more than the tangible traces of all Junhui’s favors. His lungs sting when he draws back.

“Wonwoo was right,” he says.

“Right?” His eyes are lost. Jihoon is also lost.

“I’m in love with you,” Jihoon tells him. He tries not to let red swallow his skin, but it’s so much easier to have the thought than to say it out loud while Junhui’s eyes follow his every breath. His fingers tremble, but he ignores it. Junhui’s jaw goes slack, mouth opens and closes while he combs his own brain for words.

“You’re in love with me?” he finally manages to ask.

“Wonwoo was right,” Jihoon repeats. “I’m in love with you.” He wants to move his hand from Junhui’s neck, but all his muscles are frozen. Only the roaring of blood as it rushes through his head convinces him he’s alive. “And you said you’d fall in love with me.” Junhui’s eyebrows rise and fall, lips curl into a gentle grin.

“I did say that,” he says. “If you kept kissing me, I would.”

“So how many more times do I have to kiss you?” 

“Just once,” Junhui tells him. “But it needs to count.” Jihoon is in the middle of figuring out how to make it count when Junhui kisses him.

It’s different now, from the very first time and from just a moment ago. Junhui’s hand is at Jihoon’s neck again and it is the same, and his eyes are closed and they are the same, and his lips are warm and they are the same, but everything in the world is so untraceably different. Gravity has reversed, or the earth has tilted backward on its axis. The pit of his gut is so empty and so full, and when Junhui opens his eyes, they are planets, stars, galaxies. Jihoon leans back and breathes in.

“Did that count?” he asks, voice small. 

“Yes,” Junhui tells him. “It always counts.” He thumbs at the back of Jihoon’s ear, and everything about him is sparkling. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Junhui’s laugh is an orchestra.

“For letting me do so many favors.”

Thank you. Jihoon thinks that should be his line, knows it should be, but he doesn’t say it. To give and receive. To love and be loved. Inseparable opposites, so easy to understand yet so impossible to fathom. Jihoon can’t make sense of any of it. He looks at Junhui, and he is flowers at full bloom in the dead of winter. There may be no man who grants wishes, but he has at least found one who is a wish, and that itself is something to treasure.

**Author's Note:**

> this literally was supposed to be like 1k but i fucking suck. also this sucks and i know it but i had the idea of jun who grants wishes for kisses and i really wanted to write it so it's here anyway. thanks so much for reading and i really really hope you were able to enjoy it! as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!


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